


Between Breaths

by Flynntervention



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Support, Fluff, Hints at suicide, M/M, Mental Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 07:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13631343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flynntervention/pseuds/Flynntervention
Summary: Snippets of the ways mental illness has chased Tweek into adulthood. Depression and anxiety plague his every thought. And maybe Craig might fuck up sometimes, but at least he’s always there to put every piece of him back together.





	Between Breaths

**Author's Note:**

> his is a sort of cathartic journey into what depression and anxiety can be like to experience. 
> 
> Not..not super happy with this but it’s been sitting around for so long.. :,)

Craig has a lot of patience. A fuck ton. Admittedly, it’s more or less a requirement for being married to Tweek Tucker. But he’ll readily admit that he’s not always infallible. Sometimes he’s not perfect. Sometimes, just sometimes, he doesn’t say the exact right thing at the exact right moment. Sometimes he does the precise opposite.

“What did you just say to me!?” Tweek screams, turning to face Craig, who struggles not to wince at the ferocious expression on his face. That and he also has a freshly sharpened six-inch knife in his hand he was up until a moment ago slicing vegetables with. That’s a little intimidating.

“I said stop overreacting to every fucking thing I say!” Jesus Christ, why did he say it again, does he want to die?

The sudden flash of frustration swiftly extinguishes, and Craig’s shoulders sag with it. “God dammit, now I’ve shouted…”

Tweek has a volatile temper. It’s rare that he loses it. The thought of being angry with someone, and then for them to meet a horrible end, and for his last words to them to have been nasty and malicious – God, he can’t take the thought of that. And so his anger subsists between non-existent to short-lived, and his desire to forgive is overwhelming. Craig sort of wishes Tweek could let his anger go more often instead of repressing it; his therapist always says repressing his anger is what has probably lead to the emotionally damaging negative emotions he battles with day in, day out. 

But on occasions where Tweek’s feelings are completely vilified? Oh, then it’s on.

Tweek takes a step nearer, fingers flexing around the handle of the knife as if he’s preparing to use it on soft, pliable flesh, practised, like Craig wouldn’t be his first kill.

“Babe, be mad at me, but can you put the knife down, please?” Craig says, eyeing it warily. All the news stories he’s read about people flipping out and murdering their partner in a fit of rage dive through his mind.

“You told me I’m overreacting!”

He is really, but Craig has learnt not to say that to Tweek. Ever. Whether he thinks he’s overreacting or not. Now he’s broken one of his own golden rules and might end up with a blade in his chest, another statistic, another gloomy headline. “Okay, I didn’t mean that.”

He did, at least a little, but that wasn’t the point. “I’m just trying to understand why it’s such a big deal, okay? Can you just help me to understand?”

“No,” Tweek snaps, returning to the vegetables, slicing them with a great deal more savagery than before. Butchering, is the word that springs to Craig’s mind. “I’m not explaining anything to you ever again. You clearly just don’t get how I feel about anything, so what’s the point?”

Craig sighs. He dares to come closer to see Tweek’s face. There are angry tears in his eyes and Craig feels terrible then, realising how hurtful he must have sounded, how unkind and callous.

“I’m sorry I’ve made you feel that way,” he says very softly, tentatively placing his hand on the centre of Tweek’s back. Tweek tenses at the touch, but he doesn’t brandish the knife towards him again, instead laying it flat beside the chopping board and resting his hand over it. “Not understanding made me get frustrated with you when I shouldn’t have. I know it’s not your fault. So please just talk to me? I want to understand. Honestly.”

Tweek sniffles, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Please, honey?”

“I know it’s just one client,” Tweek says very quietly. He looks sad and small again, defeated. “I know all my other clients are always super happy with my work, but… you know, what they said, it’s all the stuff I think about my skills. And then when someone tells you your photography is “unprofessional” and “completely misses the vision”, it just confirms all the crappy things I feel and I realise I haven’t come as far as I thought I have, and I wonder if I’m ever going to improve.”

Craig inwardly chastises himself for not having the wherewithal to recognise something so obvious and simple. Of course Tweek would be upset about that. His work is his passion. His work is him. Saying to someone like Tweek that Work he’d done wasn’t good enough? That’s personal. 

“Hey, first of all, that is total bullshit,” Craig says seriously, turning Tweek to face him. He cups his head in his hands to make him look up at him. Tweek’s eyes are a completely different green when they’re shivering with tears. Craig wonders if he should feel guilty for thinking how pretty they look. “You’re creative and hard-working, and you improve with every new project. The things you can do with a fucking computer program literally fucking astound me. Ignore some asshole who has no idea what they’re even talking about. You’ve had way bigger clients who’ve been super impressed with what you’ve given them.”

Tweek looks marginally brighter. He knows it’s the truth, but sometimes he needs to hear it from someone else. “And you know what we’re gonna do?” Craig continues, dipping to peck his nose.Tweek goes a little cross-eyed. “After dinner, we’re gonna create a little folder in your inbox, and we’re going to put every bit of positive feedback in there, okay? And then whenever you feel down, or you’re worried you’re not improving, we’re going to open that folder and read out all the good things. How does that sound?”

Finally, Tweek smiles. It makes Craig’s heart sore once again. “Thank you, Craig.”

 

—-

 

“Ssh, it’s alright,” Craig is whispering, carding fingers through messy blond locks. “You’re fine. Everything is fine.”

Tweek heaves with another sob. He’s snotty and breathless and hot, but Craig won’t let him go, because if he does Tweek will run and lock himself in the bathroom again like he used to do when they were 10. He holds him tight against his chest, Tweek’s nose pressed to his bare collar now wet with tears.

“I-I’m a freak,” Tweek wails, wriggling uselessly. “Oh God, I can’t take it.”

“You’re not a freak,” Craig answers easily, practised. He presses a kiss to his hair. “Take a deep breath.”

Tweek does, and as he releases it he also releases another torrent of emotion that leaves him just as breathless.

They’re lying in bed, Tweek naked and Craig near enough. It’s just past eleven at night. They’d fucked roughly. Tweek had been wearing fluffy handcuffs. It had felt amazing for both of them until the afterglow had fizzled out, and Tweek had started second-guessing everything good he feels about himself, the love Craig has for him, his wants, needs and desires, the purpose of his whole existence on planet Earth.

Naturally, this isn’t the first time this has happened. But it’s the first time it’s followed sex. Craig is pretty certain it has something to do with the way they did it – pretty vanilla, if he’s being honest, definitely not something to get worked up about, but Tweek’s mind doesn’t follow the same tracks as most. And he seems unwilling to admit the reason for his impromptu panic attack. That means Craig is going to have to play detective again.

“We don’t have to do it like that again if you don’t want to,” he says, brushing his thumb across the back of his neck. “I definitely don’t mind if you didn’t like it.”

“I did like it!” Tweek cries, shoulders shaking. “I-I did…”

“So what’s the matter?” Craig asks, and then looks somewhat stricken. “Did I hurt you?”

“No!”

“So, what then, babe?”

“I don’t know!”

Craig falls quiet. He knows Tweek knows why he’s really upset, but it’s an issue he doesn’t want to push because Tweek is clearly not ready to open up about it. It’s been some time since Craig figured out there was something he didn’t know, something Tweek has left to sink into an abyss and fester, but more often now the bubbles signalling that something is there lurking are beginning to rise to the surface. 

Tweek starts to cry noisily all over again. Seeing him this way, so destroyed, so ruined by something Tweek won’t let Craig help him with, is agony.

But until Tweek is ready, all he can do is hold him.

—-

Tweek isn’t a very good drunk. That’s mostly because he isn’t really supposed to drink alcohol on his medication because he has somewhat off-the-wall reactions ranging from talking about conspiracy theories or space aliens to verbal aggression.

But on particularly bad days, alcohol quietens his mind and numbs his out of control emotions, puts him into a state of precarious peace. Control without control. Anything to stop caring so much and just exist. And usually Tweek ends up asleep before things can get out of hand, so it isn’t such a big deal.

Except Tweek isn’t at home. He’s at Kyle Broflovski’s birthday party. Stomach empty, he’s drunk very quickly. He doesn’t mean any harm but most attendees are worried about him, Kyle especially. He’s familiar with trying to handle mental illness. After pulling Stan off to the side and talking in hushed whispered, he nudges him towards where Craig is sitting, watching his husband closely. 

 

“Craig, dude, is he okay?” Stan asks. He’s four years sober (including minimal contact with his still alcoholic father, intensive therapy sessions, and anti-depressants) and sort of an authority on drinking for the wrong reasons. Tweek isn’t doing much other than excitedly chattering to anyone in his vicinity. There’s nothing really wrong with it for the most part, not until Tweek says something to upset himself and falls very, very quiet, enraptured by the bottom of his near-empty glass.

Craig sighs, wondering. Tweek had been out-of-sorts for most of the day, but he couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Tweek had insisted on coming to Kyle’s party, despite Craig offering to bail and stay home with him. Usually that’s all the ‘Out’ Tweek needs, and he’s immediately at ease and grateful.

“He’s just having a good time,” Craig answers. It might be the truth. It might not.

“Craig, he’s only been here for an hour and he’s wasted.”

“He’s not wasted…”

Stan rolls his eyes. “I’m only asking ‘cause I give a shit. I know he’s got some problems, dude.”

Craig hadn’t really wanted to come in the first place. He would have happily stayed at home instead. But over the years Tweek has worked hard to build a friendship with the guys that had been on the fringes of their friendship group in earlier years, so Craig went along with it when Tweek wanted to hang out with them. 

“He’s not a drunk, you know,” Craig says a little waspishly.

Stan gives him a look for that. “Did I say that? But there’s such a thing as emotional drinking, you know? You don’t have to be a drunk to have a problem with drinking.”

Craig doesn’t like it when he isn’t informed on a matter, especially regarding Tweek, but his prevalent logical side is often the winner in his internal monologues. That and his morbid curiosity. “What’re you talking about?” he says, lowering his voice almost conspiratorially, casting a concerned look Tweek's way when he shrieks with laughter. 

Stan is receptive to his interest, so he sits down beside him. “Just to be clear, most heavy drinking is emotional drinking,” he begins, speaking like a school teacher. It pisses Craig off, but he keeps schtum because he wants to know more. “But some people do it in circumstances when they don’t wanna address something immediately. Like it’s just the go-to that makes them feel better straight away. Even if it doesn’t solve the problem long term.”

“So...what, then? Tweek has a lot of issues,” Craig says. “This isn’t usually the way he copes.”

Stan shrugs. “Maybe something has happened. Something new.”

Craig considers this. But Tweek hasn’t mentioned anything. Normally if he’s going to react, he reacts openly. If this is the way he’s choosing to deal with it, that’s a little worrying. Tweek isn’t the secretive sort when it comes to his immediate feelings. Sure, sometimes Craig has to do a little emotional investigation, but it barely takes a word for Tweek to throw open the gates and let him know the full extent of his feelings. 

“I can talk to him?” Stan offers, but Craig shakes his head. 

“No, I’ll talk to him later,” he replies. When Stan is about to stand, Craig takes his arm. “Hey...thanks.”

Stan smiles. “Any time.”

Craig keeps an eye on his husband. When Tweek reaches that point where the shutters are coming down, he goes over. Gently he pries the glass from his hand and sets it down on a side table. Tweek looks up at him, eyes glassy and tinted pink. He seems elsewhere, out of body. Out of mind?

Craig kneels in front of him, smile soft and caring. “What’s wrong, babe?” 

“D-dad is getting out of prison,” Tweek answers immediately, swiping a hand across his face. He feels tired and feeble, a little breathless, jaw a little slack. “He called me.”

Craig is swept up in a wave of protectiveness. He takes Tweek’s hands, squeezing them. He wants to say he won’t let that abusive piece of shit anywhere near him, won’t let him inflict any more damage or hurt, but he needs to know the full story before he carries out any defensive moves. “What did he say?”

“He wants to see me. Mom, too. They both want to see me.”

“Why?”

“They want to say sorry?”

Bullshit. Sorry? Craig thinks the only thing they were ever sorry for was getting caught lacing their coffee with drugs and testing it on their little kid. Fucking pieces of shit. Craig has wanted to beat the shit out of them both since the day they found out. “How do you feel about that?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe I just want closure,” Tweek says, his voice not a whisper but light and careful. “Maybe I want to know if they really are sorry. Then I might be able to forgive them…”

“They don’t deserve your forgiveness,” Craig growls. He’s said it a hundred times. He’ll never forgive them. But whether Tweek does or doesn’t isn’t up to him. 

“They don’t deserve anything.” It’s the first time Tweek has said that. He says it with such rage and conviction that it takes Craig by surprise, reminds him how much he’s grown into himself. When he meets Tweek’s eyes again, there’s fire there to replace festering hurt and anger. “But that power is mine. And I want them to know that. It’s mine. I’m in control of this situation.”

Craig struggles to find words. He had all of the comforts at the ready, but this is an unexpected turn of events, one he really isn’t against. “Babe,” he says, smiling loosely, releasing his hands to cup his cheeks. He doesn’t know exactly how this will be received, but he says it anyway. “This is totally inappropriate, but that was kinda hot...”  
—-

“I can’t decide! You decide!”

“What, Everything?”

“There are too many options, it’s too much pressure!”

Craig smiles patiently. “Okay well, why don’t I whittle some options down to maybe two or three-“

“Two!”

“Two, and you can choose between. Sound okay?”

“Nngh, yeah that sounds okay.”

Craig nods in his patient way. They’re planning their honeymoon and Craig is determined to get it absolutely perfect. They want to spend it in Tokyo where Tweek can bulk up his photography portfolio, test out some delicious food and see the sights. It’s been a dream of theirs for years, ever since their first foray into that strange art that had brought them together in the first place. 

It seems poignant. 

“Maybe we should give our thanks to the yaoi gods while we're out there,” Tweek says good-naturedly. Craig is sat at the desk in their shared study, clicking through pages and pages of information. Tweek is curled up on the beige bean bag beside the office chair, fiddling with his phone and just letting Craig do his research. “Think they have one?”

Craig laughs, clicking through a list of interesting looking hostels. “I don’t. But the samurai apparently used to take on their apprentices as lovers. Wanna be my apprentice lover?”

“Why do I have to be the apprentice?”

“Fine, you can be the samurai.” 

“I’d be a terrible samurai though.”

“Okay well you can be the apprentice then.”

“I’m not a sidekick!”

Craig sighs. He’s not continuing this. Instead he opens two windows containing a hostel each and turns to Tweek. “Okay. I’m thinking first five days in Tokyo. Then four days in Kyoto. Then back to Tokyo for the rest of the holiday,” Craig says. “We can head over to Osaka and go to a bunch of nerdy anime stores so you can buy your weird shit.”

“It’s not weird!”

“I wanna go to Akiba and see the giant gundam. It looks so cool. And we can do Akihabara, Shinjuku, Harajuku - you’ll love the clothes in Harajuku - Kamakura to see the giant Buddha. You can go inside and pat his belly. It gets really warm because of the angle of the sun— what?”

Tweek is staring at him with that funny little smile on his face; dozy, soft, adoring, like he’s recalling a good joke, or like there’s something he’s suddenly figured out. “Thank you for doing all this.”

Craig is momentarily taken aback. Curious, he cocks his head. “For doing all what?” he asks gently. Tweek laughs a little. 

“You’re organising our entire honeymoon down to the tiniest details,” Tweek answers, shrugging. “I’ve just..done nothing. I can’t even bring myself to look and here you are with your folders of photos and bookmarked pages and top hostels in Tokyo. You’re amazing.”

Craig can’t help himself. He’s blushing bright red. “I...well…”

“I know you enjoy it,” Tweek interrupts, “But you don’t have to do it. Most people would get mad that their fiancé seems to be showing no interest but you get it. You get me.”

“Well Yeah… I love you. I’d do anything for you.”

Tweek laughs again. “I can’t wait to be married to you, you know,” he says softly, squeezing bean bag beans between his fingers. “I can’t wait to say “my husband” and all that shit. I can’t wait to show off my wedding ring and tell anyone and everyone that I’m not just taken, but I’m taken by you.”

“Oh my god, gay,” Craig says, but his massive smile belies his words. Not that Tweek wouldn’t have figured that out regardless. And Tweek isn’t offended or hurt. He looks so happy, so elated. They both do. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Tweek laughs, shoving at his legs, whatever he can reach. “Why do I ever say anything nice about you?”

“Cause I’m actually awesome?” Craig answers, despite not thinking that, not genuinely. He never thinks he’s enough for Tweek. He should always - always - be able to comfort him. He should know how to help him, how to talk him down from oblivion. That’s just part of being someone’s partner. It’s all he wants, to be there for him always. Forever. 

—

“Baby, please,” Craig says, voice weak and small. Tears shiver in the corners of his eyes.Craig isn’t a person who cries often. “Please don’t do this again. Please.”

“I just want to be me!” Tweek cries, angry, frustrated. The anger is towards himself, towards the illness, towards this palpable self hatred he can’t seem to overcome. “You don’t understand what it’s like!”

It’s bubbling self loathing. It’s hot anger. It’s boiling sadness. It’s the daily battle, the inner struggle. Wanting to cease to exist and so desperately wanting to just be. To love. To live. 

“No, I don’t,” Craig answers, open and honest. They’ve had this conversation before, and its conclusion had nearly killed them both for very different reasons. “But you can talk to me. You can explain.”

“Stop being so logical!” Tweek growls. He wants to escape the conversation. The urge to flee is so great it has him bouncing on his toes, wringing his hands, eyes swinging between the fastest exits. 

“Well you’re being irrational, Tweek!” Craig snaps, because he doesn’t know what else he can say at times like this. The mere memory of Tweek on the living room floor, curled into the foetal position clutching empty bottles of pills, still makes him sick to the stomach, branded to the backs of his eyes. 

“Go fuck yourself!”

“I’m dating you, I’m already fucked!”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

Craig isn’t surprised when Tweek starts to cry. That was a crappy thing to say. And he feels terrible for it. And he isn’t surprised when Tweek shoves Craig’s hands away from him, rejecting the comfort, infuriated by it. 

“Don’t you dare.”

“Babe...honey...last time…”

“This is different!”

“How is it different?”

“What do you even care!?”

“Are you fucking serious? I love you.”

“But you don’t get it. You don’t wanna get it, do you?”

Craig sighs, digging fists into his eyes. This...it hurts. All Craig wants is to be supportive. He wants to be a shoulder. He wants to be Tweek’s rock, to talk him out of this reckless insanity. “That’s not true. Baby, I love you more than anything.”

Tweek throws his arms up. “How many times do I need to explain. You don’t know what it’s like if you haven’t felt it. I know you try, but—“

“Well try to understand something for me,” Craig interrupts, voice surprisingly measured. “Try to understand how it felt for me when I came home to find you half fucking dead!” He shoves tears from his cheeks. “Because you’d stopped taking your medication then, too! You nearly died Tweek!”

“Craig—”

“Dead! Dead, Tweek! Gone! The end! And then what!?” Craig yanks his hat from his head, dragging his hands through his hair. “W-what would I do then, Tweek, huh!? How would I carry on without you in my life, surrounded by all your goddamn shit, your clothes, your photos, your fucking Lego!”

Craig sinks into their armchair, a red and ratty old Chesterfield they’d got for a bargain price at a boot sale, his head sinking into his hands. 

When fingers card through his hair, he looks up in surprise, Tweek’s expression stoic and determined. 

“Okay, Craig,” he whispers, gently pressing Craig’s head to his stomach, fingers soothing away the terror. “Okay.”  
—-

Getting out of bed is an achievement. That’s what Craig always says. Just tackle that first. Pull back the sheets, put one foot down after another, and stand. There. Out of bed and ready to tackle the next trial.

Of course, staying out of bed is part of the challenge. Today, Tweek hasn’t entirely overcome that challenge, because It is happening again. The dwarfing, all-encompassing It, like the relentless and insidious descent of a bleak, black night. There’s no shining bright light, not even a flickering flame. Just endless, enveloping dark.

Tweek pulls the duvet up over his head and crumples into the foetal position. His phone is clutched tightly in hands that shake as he searches for Craig’s name and taps the red dial button, followed by the loudspeaker.

“Hey, babe,” Craig answers near immediately. He makes a point of never keeping Tweek waiting especially if he calls him at work. “Everything okay?”

“No,” Tweek answers simply. He feels drained and numb. Nothing will ever be okay ever again. This is it. The final time. 

“Oh. Is it bad again?”

“Really bad.”

“Want me to come home?” Tweek can hear Craig already shuffling papers and keys, getting his stuff tidied away.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

He is. He has carrot and coriander soup – nice and easy to eat, nutritious, warming – and a caramel latte, if Tweek is up to drinking it. Tweek hears him come into their bedroom, but he neither moves nor talks. Craig doesn’t push him, only places the soup and coffee on the bedside table.

“Here when you need me, love,” he says, gently sitting on the bed beside the figure hidden beneath pale blue blankets and leaning down to kiss where he guesses his head is. And then he stands, and Tweek hears the door close softly behind him.

It started as Tweek reached to pick the mail up off the front mat. Like an avalanche It crashed into him and swallowed him whole. The pot of boiling water on the stove is forgotten. The deadline for his most recent piece of work falls to the very bottom of his mind. Picking out a suit for the wedding they’re supposed to attend at the weekend - ‘what wedding?’

He barely makes it to bed, considers succumbing to the trembling weakness in his legs and collapsing to the floor right there where Craig would find him hours later and lift him into his arms to carry him to bed, but somehow Tweek makes it.

He sleeps briefly, but its restless and fitful. His mind rattles off everything bad that’s ever happened to him, every regret, every word spoken out of turn. For a brief moment he thinks he’s having a heart attack, but his body couldn’t possibly muster the energy for that. Sourly he thinks even his own body couldn’t kill him off properly. 

Minutes turn to hours. Soon a day has passed, and then another. Craig checks on him every hour he’s awake, leaving food and water Tweek never eats or drinks. Tweek hates to make his husband miss work, but he’s endlessly grateful to him for it, knows he never needs to ask. 

On the morning of the third day, Tweek musters the energy to tackle the first challenge of the day once again. Craig is already up and about – Tweek can hear him moving about the house doing this and that, probably laundry, before he sits down with his laptop to work. He’s always been an early riser. He’ll only stay in bed late at his husband’s behest, otherwise he’s up and showered before Tweek has stirred. 

It’s just after seven o’clock. One foot and then the next, and Tweek is upright. He’s grotty and sticky with sweat. The bed is stained with the prone shape of him. The inside of his mouth feels like dusty sandpaper and tastes like the way rot smells, sickly sweet with undertones if rancid bitterness. Brushing his teeth and showering has never sounded more exhilarating.

Standing in front of the sink, Tweek reaches for his toothbrush, and then pauses. Attached to the circular shaving mirror is a pallid yellow sticky note on which are the words “You are not a burden”.

The cupboard above the sink has another. You are my universe.

Another on the toilet lid. I always want you around.

On the shower door. Nothing you do could make me stop loving you

The frosted window. Take all the time you need

I’ll always be here

Tweek’s lip trembles as he gathers every last note, twenty in total, reading them over and over again. At the tickle of movement, Craig comes up to check on him. Standing in the bathroom doorway, smiling softly, he holds out his arms.

“I stink,” Tweek murmurs. Craig laughs.

“Well I love you anyway.”


End file.
